Chapter 5 - THE HOSPITAL TRAP
"Marcus," I choked out, gripping the marble vanity as another contraction tore through me with horrifying intensity. "The baby. Something is wrong."
Marcus looked down at the blood pooling on the tile. His military composure snapped into high gear. He grabbed a thick bath towel, wrapping it quickly around my waist.
"We are leaving. Now," Marcus ordered, looping my arm over his broad shoulder to support my weight.
On the floor, Julian groaned, clutching his shattered knee and his scalded face. "You won't make it to the hospital," Julian laughed weakly, a cruel, breathless sound. "I already called the police. I told them you attacked Eleanor and me. They’ll arrest you the second you step outside."
Marcus didn't argue with him. He simply leaned down and delivered a swift, brutal punch to Julian’s temple, knocking my husband out cold on the bathroom tile.
"The front gates will be swarming with cops on his payroll," Marcus said, dragging me toward the shattered bedroom window. "We take the service elevator to the underground garage. My truck is parked in the blind spot."
Every step felt like a knife twisting in my spine. I bit my lip until it bled to keep from screaming, focusing entirely on the heavy red ledger and the silver locket burning in my pocket. I was carrying the evidence to destroy them, but I had to survive the next hour to use it.
We made it to Marcus’s battered Ford pickup in the underground garage just as the distant wail of police sirens grew louder. He threw me into the passenger seat, peeled out of the garage, and blasted through the heavy wooden service gates, splintering them into pieces.
"We can't go to Chicago General," I gasped, clutching my stomach as another contraction hit. "Julian is the primary donor. His people are on the board."
"I know," Marcus said, steering the truck aggressively through the dark, rain-slicked streets. "We're going to St. Jude’s on the South Side. It’s out of his jurisdiction, and I know the trauma surgeon on call."
The ride was a blur of agonizing pain and terrifying calculations. I was hemorrhaging. The baby wasn't moving as much. I stared at the dashboard clock. 5:15 A.M.
Julian’s flight was scheduled for 6:00 A.M. He might still try to flee, dragging his shattered knee onto that private jet before the truth got out.
We careened into the emergency bay of St. Jude’s Hospital. Marcus practically carried me through the sliding glass doors, shouting for help.
Nurses swarmed us. A gurney appeared. The chaotic sounds of the ER faded into a muffled hum as I was rushed down bright, sterile corridors.
"Placental abruption," a doctor yelled above me, his face tight with concern. "Her blood pressure is bottoming out. Page Dr. Evans. We need to get her to the OR right now, or we lose them both."
They transferred me to a surgical table. The bright overhead lights blinded me. An oxygen mask was strapped over my face.
"Marcus," I grabbed the nurse's scrub top weakly. "Where is Marcus?"
Marcus stepped into my line of sight, his face pale and grim.
I reached into my pocket, my fingers slipping on my own blood, and pulled out the red ledger and the silver locket. I shoved them into Marcus's rough hands.
"Don't let the police have them," I whispered, the anesthesia burning in my veins. "Call the FBI field office. Give them the ledger. Show them the photo of my father."
"I will, Victoria," Marcus promised, gripping my hand tightly. "I won't let them get away with this."
"Save my baby," I begged the doctor, tears finally spilling over my cheeks.
"Count backward from ten, Victoria," the anesthesiologist said softly.
"Ten... nine... eight..."
The world went black.
---
I woke up to the steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.
My mouth tasted like dry cotton. I tried to move, but my entire body felt encased in lead. I blinked, fighting against the heavy fog of the drugs, my vision slowly coming into focus.
The room was dim. It wasn't the bustling recovery ward. It was a private, quiet room.
I panicked, my hands flying immediately to my stomach.
It was flat.
"My baby," I croaked, my voice a broken rasp.
"She's perfectly fine," a smooth, familiar voice said from the corner of the room.
My blood turned to ice.
Sitting in a leather visitor’s chair, holding a sleeping newborn wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, was Julian.
His face was severely burned on the left side, covered in sterile bandages. His right leg was immobilized in a heavy brace, stretched out stiffly in front of him.
But he was smiling.
"A healthy baby girl," Julian whispered, rocking the bundle gently. "Four pounds, eight ounces. A little premature, but she has your fighting spirit."
"How are you here?" I choked out, pushing myself up against the pillows, ignoring the searing pain in my surgical incision. "Marcus... the FBI..."
"Marcus is currently in police custody," Julian smirked, resting his hand gently on my daughter's head. "He was arrested in the waiting room for the brutal assault on Eleanor and myself. A tragic story, really. A disgruntled former employee breaking into our home, attacking us, and forcing you to flee in terror, causing your premature labor."
"The ledger," I said, panic rising in my throat. "He had the proof."
"Oh, you mean this?"
Julian reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the red leather book. He tossed it onto the foot of my hospital bed.
"It’s amazing what a million-dollar hospital donation can buy you, Victoria," Julian laughed quietly. "The chief of security here was more than happy to confiscate Marcus’s belongings before the police arrived. He handed the ledger right back to me."
Julian stood up slowly, wincing in pain, but keeping his grip tight on my newborn daughter.
"The flight to Geneva was canceled, obviously," Julian sighed, walking closer to my bed. "But we have a new plan. You see, the tragic assault by Marcus has left you completely mentally unstable. Postpartum psychosis. You are completely unfit to care for a child."
May you like
He leaned over me, his good eye burning with absolute malice.
"I am taking full custody of our daughter, Victoria. I am taking the company. And I am transferring you to a private, highly secure psychiatric facility in upstate New York. You will never see the sun, or your daughter, ever again."
